“Well, we weren’t expecting help, but it’s appreciated. Why don’t I show one of you what needs to be packed in the back room?” Somin’s mother said to the movers. “Jihoon-ah, show the other gentleman what to do in the kitchen.”
Somin waited for Jihoon to back her up, to say they didn’t need help, but he just shrugged and walked into the kitchen to help the mover.
The other man followed Somin’s mother. With a final look that clearly said behave, her mother disappeared down the hall.
“Miyoung-ah,” Somin said, futilely searching for an ally.
But Miyoung just shrugged.
With a grunt of disgust, Somin turned back but spotted Junu watching her with his arms crossed. Instead of saying something she’d catch heat from her mother for, she grabbed a trash bag and stomped out the front door.
The air outside was thick and humid, almost unbearably so, but she had to get away for her own sanity.
She took her sweet time separating out the recycling from the trash and putting them all in the correct receptacles, stopping every so often to wipe sweat off her brow. There were no clouds in the summer sky to block the intense rays of the sun. It was as if the weather knew that today would be hard and just wanted to add more suffering on top of the pain.
She upended the bottom of the bag with the last of the recycling, but a can hit the edge of the receptacle and bounced across the asphalt, rolling down the incline. Hot, sweaty, and still annoyed from her fight with Junu, she wanted to just let it go, but she’d been raised better than that and jogged after it. The can came to rest centimeters from a pair of battered loafers.
“Oh, sorry,” Somin said to the man. He had salt-and-pepper hair mostly covered by a baseball cap. His back was to her, but there was something about him that felt eerily familiar.
Why was she so intrigued by this man? He was just standing there. Perhaps it was because he stood so still, he could have been made of stone. Anyone else might turn, bend down to pick up the can for her, or at least acknowledge her, but he just stood there. Maybe he hadn’t heard her. As she approached him, she could just make out the scent of licorice.
She picked up the can, but when she stood, the man was gone. Somin could have sworn he’d been there just a second ago. She scanned the road but saw no sign of him. She hadn’t even heard his footsteps as he’d retreated. In fact, she might have convinced herself no one had been there at all except she could swear she still smelled the faint scent of licorice.
“Strange,” she murmured to herself as she walked to the trash receptacles.
As she dropped the can into the recycling bin, a cold sensation washed over the back of Somin’s neck. So chilly, it made the hairs at her nape stand. The wilted trees by the roadside stood still. There was no breeze, but she felt the chill again, a prickle against her skin.
Then Somin saw him, not the older man but a teenager. He stood out somehow. Like he didn’t belong here. Not just in this neighborhood, but in this world.
Maybe it was because he was dressed head to toe in black with a brimmed black hat to match. He even had a matching black trench coat over his suit; he had to be roasting. But that wasn’t the strangest thing about him. She was pretty sure he was staring straight at her. Though he was a few meters away, she could see his eyes. They were as black as his clothes and unblinking as they watched her.
He was tall, and even though half of his face was shaded by the hat, he was striking. Pale skin, full lips, dark eyes.
“Can I help you?” Somin asked.
The boy finally blinked. “You can see me?”
Somin frowned. “Yeah, you’re standing right in front of me, staring like a byeontae.”
“So strange,” he said, but it seemed mostly to himself. He didn’t even care that Somin had called him a pervert.
Somin let the lid of the recycling bin fall as she fumbled in her pocket for her phone, just in case she needed to call for help.
“You slam those lids any harder, you might break something,” called the old woman who sat across the street.